The Star Chamber—Mull

There, at Laggan, stands the MacLaines’ mausoleum, its iron door so tightly locked, its sombre interior softly lit by tiny, star-shaped windows of coloured glass let into the roof.

The Ghost Book—Alasdair Alpin MacGregor (1955)

It was an April day in 2010, when I first made the walk from Lochbuie to the mausoleum at Laggan. The door was not tightly locked, as Alasdair Alpin MacGregor complained about in 1955, so it was easy to get inside. Cumulus clouds had eclipsed the sun, preventing the colourful stars embedded in the roof from shining brightly. The dank smell of dirt permeated the interior as a meagre shaft of light pierced the open doorway. The feeble light partly illuminated the high walls, which were embedded with memorials to long-dead chiefs of the MacLaines of Lochbuie. 

This was once a chapel dedicated to St Kenneth, with roots dating to the twelfth century. In the 1860s, the MacLaines converted it into a mausoleum, and they made additional renovations in 1972. The chapel is believed to have been consecrated in 1500, and the earliest recorded burial was for a Chief of the MacLaines in 1701.

Since it is off the beaten path, the chapel, also known as Caibeal Mheomhair, the Burial Place of Remembrance, sees few visitors. But it should be seen, for it lies in a beautiful spot above Loch Buie. The attraction for me was its association with St Kenneth, who established a monastery on nearby Inchkenneth. Several MacLaine chiefs are interred here, most commemorated with simple memorials, although the marker for Murdoch MacLaine, the twenty-first chief (1791-1844), is extensive and mentions his wife and nine children.

A good source for stories about the MacLaines of Mull is Thomas Hannan's The Beautiful Island of Mull (1926). It tells of another Murdoch MacLaine, the twenty-second chief. When he died in 1909, a steamer full of dignitaries set out from Oban to attend the funeral. But, as Hannan describes, they did not make it:

His funeral was a thoroughly Highland ceremony, carried out in one of those intense sea-fogs which occasionally shroud the island. A steamer had set out from Oban with a great company of Chiefs and others from the mainland, but it was not able to enter the loch. Those on board were able to hear the wailing of the pipes as they played the lament, but the steamer had to return without its passengers taking part in the funeral service.

It must have been quite moving, hearing the pipes echo across the sea from a fog-shrouded chapel on this remote headland of Mull.

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I returned to Caibeal Mheomhair last month. It was a sunny, August day, and the star chamber was in full splendour. Eight constellations spanned the roof; each a cross of five stars with a kaleidoscopic mix of colours: some emerald green, others the brilliant white of Sirius, the blood red of the Garnet Star, and the deep amber and intense blue of Albireo, the stunning double star of Cygnus.